“This is going to taste awful,” he says, liquid cold medicine in hand. “But it might make your throat feel better if you can get it down.”
I take a sniff.
“I’m supposed to drink this?”
“Yes.”
“All of this.”
“That’s right.”
“Whatever you say, doc.”
It does smell awful – potently medicinal. Upon further inspection, it tastes awful, too. I take a shot of liquid cold medicine and pause.
“Was I supposed to drink that on an empty stomach?” I ask.
In my current state I cannot accurately recount this story without using the phrase “his brow furrowed,” I am tired and it’s necessary for the plot.
His brow furrowed.
“I think it should be fine. I mean, I can usually – “
I am no longer listening.
About five minutes later my body has thoroughly rejected this attempt to poison me with cold syrup. I sleep for about four more hours.